


Detective Lestrade and the Case of the Lonely Librarian

by AlessNox



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Crime, Detective, Gen, Librarian - Freeform, Murder, Prequel, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-18 08:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlessNox/pseuds/AlessNox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly appointed Detective Sergeant Gregory Lestrade is investigating his first solo case, the suicide of a lonely librarian. But something feels wrong to the detective so he keeps digging. Along the way he meets an eccentric former chemistry student by the name of Sherlock Holmes.</p><p>Sherlock Holmes prequel.<br/>Written in response to a request on Mrs Hudson's Kitchen Forum</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A body in the bath

Detective Sergeant Gregory Lestrade pulled out his personal recorder and began to talk. "Deceased is a white male between the ages of ..I'd say...twenty and twenty five. Found in bathtub of his flat. Three parallel incisions on each wrist made with what appears to be a scalpel. No sign of a struggle. No roommate." He lowered the recorder and yelled, "Johnson, I want pictures of the body and this entire room!"

"Looks like a pretty clear suicide," Johnson said raising his camera to snap a picture.

"Let's not make assumptions. We shouldn't discount any options this early in the investigation. Watch where you're stepping! There might be evidence on that bath mat. And while you're at it, get me a sample of that bath water will you."

He walked into the living room. "A wine bottle and one wine glass. Seems to have had a drink before his bath. Clothes neatly folded. This guy was a bit too neat for my taste. It's unreal. Wilson! Don't just stand there. Dust the glass and the bottle for prints! I shouldn't have to tell you this. I want everything documented, and keep an eye out for a suicide note."

Wilson rushed over to the table with the sample bag meeting Johnson who was just exiting the bathroom with the water sample. The two of them huddled together. "He's a bit ' _gung ho_ ' isn't he?" Johnson said.

"Well, that's to be expected. This is his first solo case. They always go a bit crazy when they're new at it. Best to just keep your head down and take the samples."

"For a suicide? It's pointless," Johnson replied.

"Johnson!" Lestrade called, "I want pictures of this entire flat!"

"Yes sir," Johnson said catching Wilson's eye before walking into the bedroom.

Lestrade walked slowly around the room, looking closely at everything and reporting it to his recorder. "He seemed to have an extensive comic book collection. Some of these are in...It appears to be Japanese. Videos too. Lots of science books. Biology, chemistry, biochemistry, nuclear physics. Brainy one this. Where's the person who found him?"

"Downstairs sir, room fifty five."

Lestrade exited through the door and rushed down the stairs. The door to room fifty five was open and a man sat on the couch. A uniformed officer stood by the door.

"This the man who found the body?" he asked her.

"Yes sir, his name is Joseph Sung."

Lestrade looked down at the young man. He was Asian, in his early twenties. He wore a t-shirt which said " _May the mass x acceleration be with you_ ". He was frowning. Lestrade sat down across from him. "Hello. I'm Detective Sergeant Lestrade the principal investigator of this case. You were the one who found him, correct?"

"Yes," the man said shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"What is your relationship to the deceased?"

"The deceased, Blimy! I guess he is that now. Strange thing that. I'm just a neighbor."

"A neighbor, so how did you get into his apartment?"

"I have a key. You see, Robert was always paranoid about getting locked out of his apartment, so he gave me a spare key for emergencies."

"Did you ever need to use this key before?"

"Yes, once or twice, but most of the time. I didn't see much of him. He kept to himself. He was a pretty quiet guy really."

"So why did you use the key today? What was different?"

"I got a call from his work," Joseph said. "You see, he gave my number to his work in case something was wrong with his phone. He was pretty paranoid. Always planning contingencies. Well, his boss called because he was late for work. Asked me to check on him, so I went up and I found him...like that. It was a surprise, that's for sure."

"Where did he Robert work?"

"He worked at the University Library. He's a student, biochem I believe. Really smart bloke."

"Did he have visitors? friends?"

"No, not that I've seen, but then again, I'm usually out."

"And when you did see him, did he seem particularly depressed or upset?"

The man shook his head, "Not any more than normal. He was pretty regular. Went to classes, went to work. Ate out at the corner Chinese on Sundays. Watched videos on weekends always alone. He seemed to me to be a pretty lonely guy, but then he's lived here for two years, I don't know why he would suddenly kill himself now? I mean, he was so close to graduating, and it's not like his grades were bad. From what I heard, he was one of the smartest blokes in the entire University. He was brilliant. I mean, really bright. But then again, I guess we don't really know people."

Lestrade nodded and stood, "Thank you Mr. Sung. I'll be sending someone in to get your statement in a moment, and then you can be on your way.

"Thanks, because my trivia team meets at eleven and we're going to Oxford on Wednesday."

Lestrade walked outside of the building to find Constable Ann Gray standing next to the police car. He was Anne's superior, but she was older and much more experienced. She had adopted him on his first day at Scotland Yard, and he had her assigned to his team whenever he could. She stood by neat as ever, her blond hair pulled into a bun beneath her black hat. She clipped the radio receiver to her vest.

"I'd kill for a coffee," he said.

Anne smiled, "There's a really good coffee shop around the corner. If you want, I can run down and get you one. That's the least I can do for the new Detective Sergeant. How's the case going by the way?"

"Good."

"Suicide isn't it?"

"Looks that way, but there's something not quite right about it. I mean, slit wrists? It's a pretty girly way to die don't you think?"

Anne laughed, "A bit sexist of you isn't it? It's a dead body. What matters how he did it?"

"Well, it's unusual. Usually blokes prefer a more direct route: Hanging, or shooting. Tossed in front of a train. Slit wrists in the bathroom? That's your classic beauty queen death. It just doesn't feel right to me."

She laughed again, "Well you're the detective not me."

"You could be one Anne if you wanted to."

Just then, Wilson stuck his head outside, "Do you want a sample of the wine in the glass? or maybe the bottle."

"Good thought, Wilson. Get a sample of both, and make sure that Johnson gets pictures of that dissection kit on the kitchen table. The scalpel most certainly came from there."

Anne patted Lestrade on the back. "You go back in there and finish your case, and I'll get you that coffee. We don't want another crime here."

"Another crime?"

"That murder you were going to do if you didn't get any coffee."

"Oh, yeah. I can't believe that you actually listen to my babbling."

"Well, you are the boss. Good luck on the case!"

"Thanks Anne," he said, and he walked back into the building bounding up the stairs two at a time with a smile on his face.


	2. A strange meeting in the library

Lestrade sat in his office looking at the collection of images that covered his desk: A wine glass. Three parallel lines. A set of folded clothes. A student's dissecting scalpel. He stared at them so engrossed that he didn't notice the flashing light on his phone indicating that he had messages. There was a knock on the door. He glanced up to see Anne. He smiled,"Anne, do ya need something?"

"I just came by to see how the case was coming along. Haven't you filed it yet? Simple suicide isn't it?"

"It should be simple, but there's something wrong with it, I can't put my finger on it. Slit his wrist, but not in the usual way. Usually there's just one cut, but this person did three on each wrist. Expert job too. Parallel lines. But that fits his profile. He's a biology student considering a career in medical research. The dissecting kit had never been opened though. Found the plastic wrapper in the trash. Did he buy it especially for tonight? If so, where's the receipt? He probably bought it at the beginning of term. The question is why kill himself now? There was no suicide note. No one noticed anything different about him, and he apparently had no friends. Came over from the states to go to Uni Quickly rose to the top of his class and stayed there. What drives a man to despair when he has everything he always wanted."

"Maybe he was under pressure from his parents. Expectations?"

"His parents were in another country. Called once a month if that. He didn't go home for his holidays. I called this afternoon to inform them. The father said that this was all his idea. They had wanted him to stay near home, but he had insisted. This is his dream, not theirs. They have no idea why this happened. Last they heard from him was a week ago when term ended. He was up for an award of some kind. Very prestigious. He would have traveled the world, worked with the best people, all completely paid. He was finalist. And now this. Something's not right."

"I can see that this has got you completely captivated, but I came to tell you. Your wife has been trying to call you for the last two hours. Something about a piano recital."

"Oh bloody hell, Lily's concert's tonight. It totally slipped my mind. Thanks Anne, good night." he rose and rushed out of the office.

'

The next morning, early, he went to the library to talk to Robert's boss, Simone Bryant. She was a tall, thin woman with hair so pale that it looked as if she had no eyebrows. She stood very straight. Lestrade said, "I'm sorry to have to be the one to inform you that your assistant, Robert Vaughn, is dead."

"Thank you for your concern, Detective Lestrade, but I heard from Joseph yesterday. I called again to check up on things and he told me about the suicide."

"Assumed suicide," Lestrade said. "Do know of any reason why Robert Vaughn would want to take his own life?"

The woman frowned. "None whatsoever. He seemed a very stable boy. Someone with a real future. I don't understand it."

"Did he have any enemies?"

"No. He was very quiet, polite. He wasn't the sort to make enemies. He was one of the best assistants that I've ever had. I offered him a permanent position here last year, but he refused. He said that it was his dream to go into research. He was so excited about his fellowship application."

"Yes, can you tell me about that? What is this Fellowship?" Lestrade asked.

"The Selton-Wallace Memorial Research Fellowship. It is a competitive award for a student close to graduation. It pays them a salary to visit three different research establishments and study their techniques before starting their own research. It is one of the most prestigious awards that a student in the biological sciences can attain, and the money is good. The award was to be announced today. The Dean called me yesterday, and he was very distressed to find that Robert Vaughn was dead. When I checked on the website. It says that the decision for the fellowship has been delayed until further notice, but I know what that means. It means that Robert won the award, and now that he's dead they don't know what to do with it. Robert's death is a terrible tragedy. He could have done such great things. I'm devastated by it."

"I'm sorry for your loss. Can you please tell me where he worked? Did he have a desk? There may be a note to indicate why this happened."

"Yes of course," she said pointing. "Go down the stairs to the lowest level. He had a desk in the stacks, near the lift."

"Thank you," Lestrade said. He walked down the stairs and into the part of the library known as _the stacks_. There were rows of books in all direction with desks hidden in odd places and near the corners. There were no windows, and apparently no students. It looked like some ancient catacombs only with walls of books instead of stone.

He walked through row upon row of identical bookshelves until he realized that he had no idea where he was going. He came out from one set of shelves and turned to the right only to crash into a tower of books. He fell to his hands and knees, books crashing around him. "Sorry," he said, "I didn't see you there."

There was a young man lying on the floor an open book covering his face. He picked up the book and sat up. His face was long and angular, sharp cheekbones and grey eyes below a set of messy black curls. He wore a black suit that seemed a size too small for his thin frame, and a white shirt with no tie.

Lestrade climbed to his feet and reached out a hand to help the lad up. "Sorry about that," he said. "Didn't see ya there. Are you alright?"

The young man brushed the dust off of his thighs, and then looked over Lestrade from top to bottom. "Yes, I'm perfectly fine. I wasn't expecting to see a police detective here in the stacks. Has there been a crime? Theft of a rare book perhaps? If so, you're in the wrong place. Rare books are housed on the top floor."

"Excuse me, who are you, and how did you know that I was a police detective?"

"It's obvious. Your wallet has fallen out of your pocket. It is decorated with police insignia, therefore it houses your warrant card. That, and your general bearing, as well as the coffee stain on your shirt suggests police."

"But how did you know that I was a detective?"

Sherlock sighed, "You're not wearing a uniform. Honestly if this is the state of detectives at Scotland Yard today, I fear for the country." He bent over then and began retrieving his books.

Lestrade wrinkled his brow. "My name is Detective Sergeant Lestrade, and you are?" He held out his hand, but Sherlock, whose hands were again full of books, simply stared down at it with derision until Lestrade nervously put it, and the wallet back into his pocket.

The young man walked a few paces and placed his stack of books on a desk. Then he turned back around and thrust out a hand. Lestrade fished his hand out of his pocket and shook it. "Sherlock Holmes," the man said.

"Pleased to meet ya. That's quite an assortment of books you have there: Dead bodies. Modern forensic science. Advanced physical chemistry. The Egyptian book of the dead. You must be studying medicine."

"No," Sherlock said.

"Then what are you studying?"

"I am not a student at this University. I was a student at Cambridge, but I have ...left that institution."

"Really? What happened at Cambridge?"

"A tiny disagreement over an exploded laboratory. Luckily, my student ID is still honored in this library due to an exchange agreement."

"I see," Lestrade said. "You could try another University. There's bound to be some place for a curious young man like yourself."

"Well, my family has agreed that I should spend this time pursuing my independent interests."

"And you are interested in dead bodies?"

"Obviously."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then Sherlock breathed in sharply and picked up his books, "Well, if you'll excuse me."

"Mr Holmes," Lestrade said, "can ya show me to the assistant librarian's desk, please?"

Sherlock looked over at Lestrade and raised his eyebrow, then he nodded. Carrying his books a bit more carefully than before, he walked through the stacks to the service lift. There was a small desk with a computer against the wall. "Thank you," Lestrade said and walked behind the desk to search it.

Sherlock placed his stack of books on a table and sat down facing Lestrade. He opened the Egyptian Book of the Dead and began to read.

Lestrade searched each drawer. He found pens and pencils all neatly arranged. He pulled out a sheet of paper from the stack in the bottom drawer and held it up. There was a watermark on it. 'Champion' it said. There was a stamp with a date on it that had clearly not been used in years. _Oh yes, it was all computerized now._ Perhaps he had written something on the computer.

Lestrade put his hands on the keyboard. Computers were not his area. He knew his way around a word processor well enough to write a report, and he filed his taxes on the computer, (that is his wife did) but mostly he left the computer work to others. He looked at the screen. It was asking for a password. He glanced around for the librarian, realizing that he would have to find his way back up to her desk, when he noticed someone at his shoulder. It was Sherlock Holmes.

"You'll need a username and password to log on to his computer."

Lestrade shifted his chair over a few inches. He hadn't even heard the man approach. "I can see that," he said.

"Would you like me to...?"

"Please," Lestrade said pushing himself up from the chair.

The young man sat down and logged in. "What is it that you're looking for?"

"Anythin' written in the last week or so," he said.

Sherlock pulled up a window and searched, opening file after file and arranging them in neat rows. Then he turned and looked over his shoulder. "This is all that I could find. Is there anything specific that you are searching for?"

"A note. It would have been obvious. He would have wanted someone to find it."

Sherlock tilted his head. "You mean... a suicide note? Did he kill himself?"

"Well, I'm not at liberty to say at this time."

" Can I see the body?"

"Wha?"

"You have remarked yourself on my interest in forensics. I thought that my intentions would be obvious. I've helped you access his files. You have the power to allow me access to his body, so...?"

"I'm sorry Mr Holmes, but this is an ongoing investigation. It is not open for...idle curiosity."

"Perhaps another time then." Sherlock rose to his feet. He pulled a notebook and pen from a pocket inside his coat and wrote down his name and phone number. "I have an apartment on Montague street. If you happen to change your mind, please call." He handed the paper to Lestrade and then strolled gracefully over to his stack of books, and was off and up the stairs before Lestrade could think of another word to say.

Lestrade snorted and then sat down at the computer ready to go through the files one by one.


	3. Policework

Lestrade took the victim's phone out of the evidence bag. He turned it on and looked at the numbers in the directory. He compared them to the list of numbers of the people that he had already talked to. Here was the number for the neighbor, Jacob. Here was his work, and the long distance number was his parents. There was another number from the same area. Lestrade dialed it, and found that it was the Chinese restaurant down the street. He must really be a regular to have the number programmed into his phone. There was one more number. It had a name, Isabelle.

He strolled down through the previous messages and found that he had called the number several times in the last two weeks, but he hadn't called it at all before then. He used a reverse directory lookup and found that the number belonged to a student, one Isabelle Mann. He found her address and decided to go in person. News like this shouldn't been given over the phone.

The apartment was not far from campus but it was a bit nicer than your average student could get normally. Lestrade walked up to the third floor and knocked. A young woman with short brown hair and glasses answered. "Hello," she said. "Can I help you?"

Lestrade flashed his badge. "I'm Detective Sergeant Gregory Lestrade. May I have a word with you?"

A concerned look crossed her face. "Of course. Please come in," she said.

The room was painted in a very bright white. There were white French curtains over the windows, and a large white leather couch. The tables, lamps, and chairs looked nothing like the furniture found in most student apartments that he'd seen. The only things that suggested that this apartment belonged to a student were a wall full of academic awards, and a set of orange and pink furry pillows that looked like they belonged in the room of a pre-teen girl.

"Please have a seat," she said motioning to one of the chairs. "Would you like a drink? I could make some tea."

"No thank you, Miss Mann," he said.

The young woman sat on the couch. She was dressed modestly in a pink shirt, pink shoes, and lavender trousers. Her earrings were the exact same shade of lavender. "Is there something that I can help you with, officer?"

"Yes, do you know someone by the name of Robert Vaughn?"

"Robbie? Oh yes I do. I met him at an end of term function a few weeks ago. We've gone on a few dates, you know coffee shops things like that. I haven't seen him for a few days. What did you want to know?"

Lestrade took a breath. "I'm sorry to have to inform you that Robert Vaughn was found dead in his apartment yesterday morning."

Miss Mann covered her mouth, "Oh no! Really? He's dead?"

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"That's tragic."

"How well did you know Mr. Vaughn?"

"I don't understand? Do you think that I might have murdered him?"

"No, no miss. This is just part of our investigation. Initial evidence suggest suicide."

"Oh no."

"Do you know of any reason that Robert Vaughn might have taken his own life?"

She shook her head, "No."

"Did he seem at all depressed to you or anxious about anything?"

"No. He seemed very nice, very sweet. I liked him. He was a perfect gentleman."

"How many times did you go out together?"

"Two or three. Sometimes we'd meet after his work."

"And did he send you any notes or letters?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Because there was no note. Usually when a person commits suicide, there will be a note."

"Oh, I didn't know. Is he...he's really dead?"

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"I just don't know what to say. We went out for coffee just a couple of days ago. To think that he's gone. Sergeant... do you think that we can continue this at another time? I'm a bit upset now."

"Of course. I'll call if I have any more questions."

"Thank you, good bye," she said closing the door. He stood by the door a moment. Maybe she'd remember something after a good cry.

His phone buzzed then. It was Superintendent Rice.

"Lestrade!" she said. "How is the student suicide case going?"

"Hello ma'am, it's going well. I was just visiting a witness."

"Witness? It's a suicide case. I've got a message from the family they want to ship the body back to the states. What's the hold up?"

"I just have a few more loose ends to clear up before..."

"Well clear them up and get this case closed! I know that it's your first case and you want to make sure that all the **I** 's are dotted and all the **T** 's are crossed, but you'll find that we do things on a schedule. There are families waiting on your decisions. I want that report on my desk first thing in the morning, you understand Detective Sergeant Lestrade?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Well, I do appreciate your thoroughness, and I'll talk to you tomorrow, goodbye."

"Goodbye ma'am."

Lestrade closed the connection, dropped his head to his chest, and sighed. Then he picked up his phone and dialed. "Mary, can you tell Wilson, Johnson, and Dr Gupta to meet me in the conference room in an hour. Tell them to bring everything they have on the Vaughn case."

.

Lestrade entered the room. He stood for a moment looking at the chair at the head of the table. It was his now. He walked up to it aware of all eyes on him trying not to spill his coffee on his shirt. He sat down. Wilson and Johnson were here. Mary Simms sat in to take notes.

"So," he began, "The Robert Vaughn case. Let's go over all of the evidence shall we. Is Doctor Gupta here? I'd like to start with the cause and time of death."

"He's still in the lab," Wilson said. "He said that there was something he wanted to check before coming in."

"Well, no matter," Lestrade said. "About the note. Any sign?" Johnson, and Wilson shook their heads. "Johnson, did you find the receipt for the dissection kit?"

"No," Johnson said, "but I went to the University book store and bought another one. We searched the receipts, but there was no record of a purchase by Robert Vaughn there for the last month. They don't keep records further than that."

"He was a student. Are you saying that he didn't make _any_ purchases in the book store this month?"

"Well it was the end of term. They are in the break now. Also, if he paid in cash, there would be no record of the transaction."

"I see. Wilson, what did you find in the samples?"

"Bathwater shows normal ingredients found in the bath salts that were on his lavatory shelf. There were blood cells. They were type A just as the victim was. The wine was ...completely normal. A bit cheap for my tastes, but then again they were students."

"Let's keep the commentary to a minimum. Are you getting this down Mary?"

Mary nodded and continued to write. What about prints? Were there any other prints on the knife?"

"No."

"What about the wine glass."

"There were no prints on the wine glass."

"You mean except for the victim."

"No, there were no prints on wine glass or the bottle."

"What none at all? And you didn't think it worth telling me about it until now?"

"What? There were no prints."

"Exactly? Why aren't there any prints? He obviously drank the wine before he took the bath. There should be his prints on the glass? Why aren't they there? Did he wipe them off? Did he wear gloves? Did anyone find a pair of gloves in the flat?"

"No,"

Lestrade rose to his feet, "Well then, get ready for a late night, because this case has just been raised to a murder inquiry. Go back over everything that you've got. Check for poisons, fingerprints, times of entry and exit, motive, now move!"

Wilson and Johnson got to their feet and left. Mary put the finishing touches on her notes and left the room.

Lestrade nodded and pulled out his phone. "Honey," he said, "about dinner. I don't think that I'll be able to make it tonight."


	4. On the Scent

Lestrade pushed open the door and entered the morgue at St Bartholemew's hospital. He found Dr. Gupta at his desk. Lestrade said, "Here you are. Did you forget that we had a meeting?"

Dr Gupta was a short, round, dark-skinned man of about fifty with silky black hair and a bald spot. He looked up from his large computer screen and waved Lestrade over. "Good, you've come. I need to talk to you."

"And I need to talk to you," Lestrade said. "We're raising the Vaughn case to a murder investigation. Are you sure that he died because of the blood loss? Could there have been another cause?"

"Oh, no. It was indeed the blood loss that he died from. I have done a thorough investigation, and I am certain that it was what killed him."

Lestrade's face fell, "Oh well, It was just a thought."

Dr Gupta smiled and pulled up an image on the screen. " I did find something interesting though. I did an analysis of his blood plasma. I was looking for alcohol. The studies of how long alcohol stays in the blood are quite extensive. I was hoping to use it to measure the time between his last drink and the time of his death, but what I found is quite exceptional." He pointed to a peak on the graph.

"What is that?" Lestrade asked.

"Spectroscopic analysis confirms that there was a high concentration of this chemical in the blood."

"What chemical?"

"That is what I have been trying to determine. I can't tell the exact composition from such a small sample but I am fairly sure that this was a barbiturate."

"You mean that he was drugged?"

"Possibly. Barbituates are used as sedatives and muscle relaxants. Did you find evidence of recreational drug use?"

"Drugs? No. There were no drugs or drug paraphernalia in the flat, but he could have got some elsewhere. You tested the wine?"

"Nothing in the bottle or the glass."

"So then how did the drug get into his system? Check the body for signs that it was injected. I'm going to look to see who had access to drugs."

.

Lestrade looked at the block of flats on Montague street. This place was a dump, with dirty walls and a broken number plate. He pressed the intercom but there was no answer. Finally, after three more tries, a deep voice said,"Yes?"

"Mr Holmes? This is Detective Sergeant Lestrade. I was wondering if I could come up and have a word with you."

"Lestrade? Oh yes, from the library. Come up, I'll buzz you in."

There was a buzz and the metal gate unlocked. Lestrade entered, walking up the stairs to the first floor. He noticed a strong odor. It was quite vile. Before he had reached the landing, a door opened and Sherlock's curly head was thrust out. He was wearing a dirty white lab coat and goggles. "Come in, I was just working on one of my experiments," he said.

Lestrade slowly entered the flat. It was small, and messy. Boxes were pushed against the wall with strange objects piled on top of them including muddy boots, and a stuffed bat. An ugly green couch sat against the wall where there were mounted a number of dead animals. There was a student desk near the window which held a computer and a human skull. It looked to be real. The books about the dead that Sherlock had been holding at the library were stacked next to it.

Sherlock walked into the kitchen. There was a periodic table on the wall where a spice rack might normally be found. The kitchen table held an apparatus for distilling liquids, and there was something clear dripping into a glass beaker. A precariously long tube connected the gas stove to a lit Bunsen burner. Lestrade took all this in, wondering how long it would take him to organize a drugs bust.

"Quite an operation you have here," he said. "I remembered your story. You were a chemist. What are you doing now?"

Sherlock had put his goggles down and was examining the liquid dripping into the beaker. He turned a valve cutting off the flow, and then he pushed the beaker under Lestrade's nose. "What do you think?" he asked.

Lestrade stepped back away from the beaker, "What do I think about what?"

"About the smell?" Sherlock said.

"It's disgusting!" Lestrade said.

"Oh yes!" Sherlock exclaimed rushing over to the kitchen cabinet. He opened it to reveal a number of small brown bottles. He picked one up pouring a few drops into the beaker and then he came back over and thrust it toward Lestrade who leaned back. He breathed in involuntarily, and then bent forward. The smell had totally changed. It was musky and earthy now, and... pleasant like sandalwood and old moss. "That smells marvelous. What is that? What did you do?"

A big grin came over Sherlock's face. He placed the beaker back under the condenser and opened the valve. The nasty smell was already dissipating becoming an altogether more pleasant odor.

"I've been doing a study on perfumes," Sherlock said. "An amazingly interesting thing. How you can take a mammal's musk gland, mix it with old tar and make a bottle that people will pay hundreds of pounds to spread all over their bodies. Strange is it not?"

Lestrade did agree that it was strange. All of this was strange. Sherlock removed his goggles and gloves. Would you like something to drink? I think that I have some coffee somewhere. He lifted the lid to the coffee maker "Oh! I've been using it to filter my cat urine."

"No thank you, I don't need anything," Lestrade said. "I just wanted to have a word with you if you don't mind."

Sherlock motioned toward the couch. He sat down, sinking in several inches. He shifted in the seat trying to find a place where a spring wasn't jutting into his back. Sherlock pulled the chair from the desk over and sat in front of him. "So how can I help you Sergeant? Have you come to tell me that I can look at the body, or did you come to ask more questions about the murder?"

Lestrade's eyes narrowed. "How did you know it was a murder?" he asked.

"You wouldn't be here if it was a suicide," Sherlock replied.

Lestrade sat back in his chair. "Well, you're a bright one."

"I know, but why did you come? Am I a suspect? That would be exciting. How did he die? Are you sure that I can't see the body?"

"Now hold on! I just came up to ask you how well you knew Mr. Vaughn."

"Who?"

"Mr. Vaughn, the assistant librarian?"

"Oh, is that his name?"

"So, I'm guessing that you didn't know him very well."

"I've seen him often enough, but I never bothered to learn his name. No point."

"I see, so what can you tell me about him?"

"The librarian? He was a male, dark hair, twenty two..."

"Yeah, I got that much. I wanted to know more about his habits. Did you ever see him take drugs for example?"

"Drugs? Was he drugged? Is that how he was killed?"

"Mr Holmes..."

"Please call me Sherlock. So he was murdered? Oooh! Wonderful!" Sherlock leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands. "And you want me to give you clues to help you crack the case. Clues about the librarian. Vaughn you said his name was. I can tell you he's bright. But no one has to tell you that. Top of his class. Top of every class that he's ever been in, but humble. He could have gone for honors, popularity, but no. He hides himself away in a library. Safe among the books that his knowledge was born from. Not social, no not at all. No groups. Not even the noted trivia team. They must have asked him, a brilliant man like that, but he wouldn't do anything too big.

"Did he take drugs? No. Never took anything that might harm his precious brain. Liked reading _manga_. Romances mostly. He could read in both English and Japanese. He was following a number of stories in the magazines that he had imported especially for that purpose. The main librarian let him. She was fond of him. Perhaps more than fond."

"What do you mean by ' _more than fond_ '?"

"It's just, before he would always come and go on time. You could set a clock by him. For the last few weeks, however, he's been hard to find. He leaves early and is missing for several hours at a time."

"What do you think it was? Drugs?"

Sherlock smirked. "No, something far more basic, sex."

"Sex?" Lestrade said, "You think that he was seeing someone?"

"I know it," Sherlock said.

"How do you know it? Explain it to me."

"I could talk about signs of arousal, pupil dilation and such, but this is not evidence that would hold up in court. The most obvious sign is that he started keeping condoms in his pocket."

"Lots of young men keep condoms in their pocket even if they are not having sex. I remember ...but that's not important. How did you know this? Did you routinely go through his pockets?"

"No need. He was in the habit of wearing blue jeans to work. The impression in the pocket is quite distinctive. But more than that, last week I heard the unmistakable sound of sex coming from the head Librarian's office, and there is a smell. I am very sensitive to it. Yes, I am certain that he had only recently become sexually active."

"But who was he seeing?"

"I don't know. I never saw him with anyone. I would suppose that _you_ would have found out by now. Did he have a girlfriend?"

"There was a girl that he was seeing, but she said that they only saw each other two or three times."

"Well then it was not her," Sherlock said. "He was seeing someone every day. Maybe even twice a day if one can trust the changes in his pockets."

"You are sure of this?"

"Certainly."

"Then I'll be on my way. I have some things to look into," Lestrade said climbing to his feet.

As he walked down the stairs, Sherlock yelled after him, "Don't you want to search my flat for drugs?" Lestrade laughed leaving the building and climbing back into his car.

.

The library had late hours, which was lucky, because it gave Lestrade time to get a search warrant. The main librarian was not in, and that was fine with him. He didn't want her looking over his shoulder while he searched.

They found a box of condoms in her desk, a catalog for erotic women's undergarments, and a bottle of benzodiazepine, a barbiturate. When the librarian did show up after an urgent call from the assistant, she was escorted down to the station for an interview.

"Why are you holding me?" Ms. Bryant asked. She continued to sit very straight in her chair. "Why did you search my office?"

"You are here in connection of the murder of Robert Vaughn," Lestrade said.

"Murder? You said that it was suicide."

"Well, we think differently now. Where were you on the night that Robert Vaughn died?"

Ms Bryant frowned, "I was at home."

"Did anyone see you there?" Lestrade asked.

"Are you accusing me of murdering Robert? Why would I?"

"Please answer the question."

"No, no one saw me."

"Are these your pills?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes. I need those."

"Barbituates are a controlled substance."

"I am aware of that. I have a prescription."

"Did you ever give these pills to someone else?"

"No, never."

"Then can you explain how it is that this drug was found in the body of Robert Vaughn."

"Robert took my pills? But Robert wouldn't do that. He hated drugs of any kind. He didn't even drink coffee."

"Were you sleeping with him?"

"How dare you? No, I was not sleeping with Robert Vaughn."

"I have a witness that says that last week someone was observed having sex in your office."

"In my office? No we never...not in my office."

" ' _We never_ '? Would you care to explain what you meant by that?"

Mrs Bryant sighed and covered her face. "If you must know, about a month ago I began seeing a young man, a student. Since these kinds of relationships are frowned upon at the University, I have been keeping it secret. It was he who I was with on that night. I was there all night. But the man is not Robert Vaughn. I never ...there was nothing but respect between the two of us."

"And he will corroborate your story?"

"Yes he will, absolutely."

"I see. What about the pills?"

"I keep them in my desk for emergencies. You see, I have epilepsy. Sometimes I lose my vision in one eye, and my hands shake. Robert knew where I kept my key. I suppose that he could have taken some of the pills, but it's not like him at all."

Lestrade rubbed his chin. This was not going at all as he had expected. "So the condoms and the erotic clothing magazines. That was simply because you were...involved with the student."

"Yes, is this going to come out in the papers, because I could lose my job."

"If you're innocent, Ms Bryant, we'll try to keep this as quiet as possible."

"Thank you," she said, "because it's not easy for someone with my condition to find a job that suits me so well."

Just then the door clicked open and the superintendent stepped in. "Ms Bryant, I'm sorry that we took up so much of your time. Mr Baker here will drive you back home."

"But I..." Lestrade began, but she raised her hand gesturing for him to be quiet.

"If you'll come this way," Mr Baker said as he escorted Ms. Bryant from the room.

The door closed and Lestrade began, "I hadn't had a chance to corroborate her story. She could be the murderer of Robert Vaughn."

"The murder investigation is over, Lestrade. It was suicide."

"But the barbituates! Dr Gupta confirmed. It was this very batch of pills..."

"Maybe he picked them up himself to make it easier for him? It doesn't matter now. We've found the note."


	5. Deductions

Lestrade walked over to Johnson's desk, "Let me see this note."

Johnson handed the note to Lestrade who read it. It said:

 

_**I hurt, and I don't want to feel this way anymore. It's over.** _

_**Goodbye forever,** _

_**Robert** _

"Where did you find this?" Lestrade asked.

"It was in his locker in the gym. They found it when they went to clean out his clothes. The handwriting is certainly his. I checked it against samples in his room."

Lestrade held the paper to the light and saw the watermark that read, ' _champion_ '. It was the paper from Robert's desk.

"Well that about wraps it up. This case is over. Isn't it, sir?" Johnson said with a smile on his face.

Lestrade put the paper back down on the desk. "Yeah, I guess it is over."

Johnson shuffled together the papers, reports, and notes from the case and put them into the file. He handed it to Lestrade who held the folder against his chest as he walked slowly back to his office. Then he sat down and simply stared at the closed file. Superintendent Rice stopped at the door and looked in, "Lestrade, I'll expect that report first thing tomorrow morning," she said, "And congratulations on completing your first case."

He had done it. His first solo case was complete, so why did he feel so awful? He had been so certain that the man had been murdered. He must have been over-thinking things. For some reason the man killed himself. Such things happen everyday. He could hear everyone slowly gathering their things to go home. For some reason, he couldn't move. He felt as if he was trapped in amber, unable to leave his desk even if he wanted to.

Mary came in and put a plastic bag on his desk. It held the rest of the artifacts from the case. He needed to write the official report for the superintendent, and then put the rest of the things in the files. He stared into the plastic bag. Sitting in the bag right on top was the dissection kit that Johnson had bought. Lestrade pulled it out and opened it. He looked at the supplies inside: A scalpel, a pair of scissors, a pair of gloves, a metal handled stick to poke things with perhaps, a curved metal tool - he didn't know what that was for, and a collection of metal pins for holding things down. Lestrade lowered his head to the desk and wondered when this _ennui_ would pass. Would it be this way at the end of every case from now on?

Suddenly Lestrade sat up. He looked again at the dissecting kit and then pulled out the photographs from the crime scene. He stared at the picture of the kit in the apartment, then he pulled out the suicide note. "Ah ha!" he said as he jumped out of his chair. Then he grabbed his coat and ran as fast as he could out of the building.

* * *

At 7:45 the next morning, Johnson stuck his head into the conference room to find Lestrade asleep with his feet up on the table. The conference table was strewn with papers and photos from the files.

"Lestrade!" Johnson said. "Haven't you finished this yet? Superintendent Rice will be arriving any minute?

Lestrade sat up and yawned, wiping his eyes. "Can somebody get me some coffee and a pastry? I'm knackered."

Johnson walked toward the door, "Mary, do you mind getting the sergeant a coffee?"

"No, I don't mind, " Mary said.

"And a pastry if you have one!" Lestrade yelled after her.

Johnson walked back over to Lestrade with a concerned look on his face. "Are you all right? Do you need me to cover for you until you get a chance to write up this case? I think I hear the superintendent, I'll close the door."

"Don't close the door!" Lestrade said in his clear voice that seemed to carry all the way down the hall. "I want to see the superintendent. In fact, I want you to call Wilson, and Mary in here too. I have something to show you."

.

It wasn't until 8:20 that superintendent Rice found her way into the conference room. Lestrade was sitting at the front of the table calmly eating a pastry. "What is this thing that you want to show us?" The superintendent asked. "I thought that last night we had resolved that this was a suicide."

"Yes ma'am," Lestrade said. "So I thought last night, but I plan to show you conclusive evidence, that Robert Vaughn was murdered."

"You had better, or this is the last case that you'll have in a long while," Superintendent Rice said.

Lestrade climbed to his feet clapping his hands to brush away the crumbs. When he looked up there was a half-smile on his face. He began, "Robert Vaughn, a lonely but brilliant librarian's assistant in his final year of University, he lives in a small apartment alone. No close friends. His only interests are his work and the stories that he reads. Then, on the eve of the decision for a prestigious award he kills himself. Why, when he had everything: Academic success, a bright future, a new romance? I think that he didn't kill himself. He was murdered.

"He died from loss of blood from three vertical marks on each wrist. He also had barbiturates in his system. The problem is that barbiturates are sedatives and muscle relaxants. Are we to believe that a man half asleep would be able to keep his knife straight enough to draw perfectly parallel lines on one wrist and then the other?

"But for the sake of argument, let's say that he was capable of doing such an act. He was, by all accounts, gifted. He had a new dissecting kit that had never been opened. Last night, I was looking at the kit that Mr Johnson had bought, and I noticed something missing from Mr Vaughn's kit, a pair of gloves. No gloves were found anywhere in the flat. What happened to them?

"I think that Mr Vaughn was drugged, lured into taking that bath, and when he was unconscious. someone opened the kit, put on the gloves, and slit his wrists. The wine was put there to distract us from the fact that the drug was actually in a tea cup. The gloves were taken by the killer. That's why we didn't find any when we searched."

"But who would have a motive to kill Robert Vaughn?" Wilson asked.

"Who indeed?" Lestrade said, "Was it the neighbor who resented him for not joining the trivia club? The employer who may have been jealous of his new girlfriend? The girlfriend, who he would leave behind? Or the strange student interested in dead bodies who lurks in the underground stacks?

"The murderer is someone who is used to deception. Someone who has been lying to protect themselves. If we follow all of the leads, look at all the evidence, then these lies can't help but be revealed. No one can cover all of their tracks."

"But what about the suicide note? Do you think that it was faked?" Johnson asked.

"No," Lestrade said. "In fact it was the note that helped me to figure the entire thing out. The paper was the same paper found in his desk at the library, so I knew that it was genuine, but something about the note bothered me. Later I realized it. The top left corner of the page was torn off. Also the first letter 'I' was drawn strangely. It looked more like a letter 'L' ". It wasn't much to go on, but I thought that perhaps there was more to this letter. I went to the gym and searched the rubbish bins until I found the rest of the note."

He fitted the scrap of paper on the letter. "There was a missing word. Betrayal. Now it reads..."

 

_**betrayal hurt, and I don't want to feel this way anymore. It's over.** _

_**Goodbye forever,** _

_**Robert** _

"I'm sure that there was another page to this note. I searched, but I couldn't find it. Even so, I think that we have enough evidence here to show that this wasn't the entire message, and the fact that this note showed up only after I expressed my concerns about not finding one, is suspicious. I think someone put that note in the locker to give us an excuse to close the investigation."

"Mr Vaughn still could have done it. Perhaps he tore off the corner because he changed his mind about what he wanted to say?"

"Then why not write it again? Why hide the note in his locker in the first place? The only reason to tear the note is to prevent us from thinking that there might be more. _Betrayal_. Who betrayed Robert Vaughn?"

"I take it that you think that you know the answer," the superintendent said.

Lestrade smiled and picked up a comic book from the assorted items on the table. There was a picture of a young man and woman on the cover and the words _Kare Kano_. "This is his favorite story. It's about a brilliant young man who meets a brilliant young woman in school and they fall in love. It's quite interesting really, the young man ends up joining the police, but that's not important. The point is that Robert hadn't found his brilliant young woman yet. But recently he met someone."

"Do you suspect that the murderer is the girlfriend, Isabelle Mann?"

"Who else would he feel had betrayed him? Who else didn't know that he didn't drink coffee or wine? Who else stood to gain by his death? Ms Mann said that she met him at a function. Mr Vaughn is not a social man. The only function that he went to in the last month was the announcement of the finalists for the Selton-Wallace Memorial Research Fellowship. She was there because she was a finalist too. With him out of the way, she would be the next in line to get it."

"But where did she get the drugs?"

"From the head librarian's office. A student heard someone having a romantic _liaison_ in the office, but Ms Bryant seemed surprised when I mentioned it, so it must have been Mr Vaughn. No one else had a key. Ms Mann seduces the inexperienced romantic young man in an effort to...I don't know, prevent him from getting the fellowship. He discovers her deception and writes her a note ending the affair. Then she comes over. She tells him that it was all a misunderstanding. She drugs him, and when he starts to feel tired, she suggest a bath. He gets in the bath and passes out. She puts on the gloves, slits his wrists, and then sets out the wine glass to distract us from the fact that she drugged his mug of tea."

"Plausable, but what evidence do we have?" Superintendent Rice said. " We have a strip of paper that suggests that there is another page, but you don't have the page. We have hearsay that someone was in the head librarian's office and had access to barbiturates. And we have anecdotal evidence that the victim doesn't drink or do drugs. People do things that they wouldn't normally do once they've decided to kill themselves. Do you have one piece of evidence that could stand up in a court of law?"

Lestrade laid a piece of paper on the table. It was a receipt.

"The piece of plastic around the dissection kit had a bar code on it. From this I was able to find the record of the sale. The dissection kit was bought by one Isabelle Mann."

All eyes were on Lestrade and his stupid half grin. "Good show," Wilson said.

"Well, this is by no means enough evidence for trial, but it is certainly enough for me to issue a warrant. Take a team and search her flat."

Everyone rose to their feet, and they filed out of the room. As he passed, the superintendent put a hand on his shoulder. "Good job, Lestrade," she said.

He put on his coat and then pulled out his phone to call Anne.


	6. The Remains

In the cafeteria at St. Bartholomew's hospital sitting across from the young Sherlock Holmes, Lestrade finished his plate of potatoes and eggs. Sherlock only had a coffee. He unzipped his leather jacket and sat back in his chair. "So you actually found the other page of the letter? It was in her flat?"

"Yes," Lestrade said, "as well as a receipt for the bottle of wine, and the wine glasses. She had the other one in her kitchen cabinet."

"What an idiot! Why didn't she just poison him with the barbiturates? I would have done it much better. Can I see the note?"

"It's at the yard," Lestrade said, "But I have copy." He pulled a paper out of his wallet and unfolded it.

"You keep it in your wallet?" Sherlock said with a grin.

"Hey, it's my first solo case," Lestrade said.

Sherlock read:

> **_Isabelle,_ **
> 
> **_By the time that you read this, I will already be taking my exam._ **
> 
> **_I believed you when you told me that you loved me. I was willing to go with you, even at the cost of my own future. I wanted to make you happy, so I looked up some of your old classmates to ask what to give you for your birthday. I found out many things that I didn't believe at first, but when I heard what you did to Marcus Reilly, I knew that you were playing me for a fool._ **
> 
> **_Was this all just a sick game to you? Did you even like me? Was this fellowship worth so much to you? Was it worth breaking my heart? Well, it won't work. I'm going to ace that test and win the fellowship despite you. Your_ **

He pulled out the next page.

> **_betrayal hurt, and I don't want to feel this way anymore. It's over._ **
> 
> **_Goodbye forever,_ **
> 
> **_Robert_ **

"How incredibly maudlin, " Sherlock said. "How can people write such ridiculous things?"

" ' _Love makes fools of us all_ ' as the saying goes."

"Then thank goodness I've never had to deal with it. Is this all that you wanted to talk to me about? You could have sent an email."

"No, I wanted to thank you for your information about Vaughn. It got me thinking in the right direction. You should seriously consider joining the force."

"Boring! All that talk of receipts almost had me in tears. If I had to do that everyday, I'd chew off my own hand. It _was_ interesting though, solving puzzles. I quite like that. What I don't understand is why it took you such an impossibly long time to solve the case. It should have been obvious."

"What are you talking about? You told me that it couldn't be the girlfriend."

"And you told me that they had only met only two or three times."

"I can't help that she was lying."

"I can't be depended upon to give a correct conclusions without complete and accurate information. You must promise me that next time, you will give me all of the facts so that I can give you an accurate opinion."

"Who said that there would be a next time?"

"And you must show me the body. I can't help without seeing the body."

"I don't need your help to solve cases?" Lestrade said.

"Of course you need my help. You just told me so."

Lestrade turned as he saw a familiar face coming his way, "Oh, here he is," Lestrade said rising to his feet.

Mr Gupta walked over to the table. "You said that you had someone that you wanted me to meet?"

"Yes, Dr. Piyush Gupta, I'd like you to meet Mr Sherlock Holmes. He's the lad that I said was so excited about bodies."

"Well you've come at a good time," Dr Gupta said, "We're just about to have a human dissection class. Would you like to watch?"

"Yes, yes I would," Sherlock said nearly salivating.

"Then come with us to the morgue."

Sherlock turned back to the sergeant, "Lestrade I..."

"No need to thank me. Just enjoy your dead bodies. I can't believe that I just said that," Lestrade said. "Now, I've got to get back to work." He put Sherlock's coffee on his tray and rose to throw away the remains of his meal. Sherlock bounded away happily after Dr. Gupta.

"Sherlock is it?" Dr. Gupta said, "I'd like you to meet one of the teachers in the medical school, Dr. Mike Stamford."

Sherlock reached out his hand, and Mike shook it, "Nice to meet you, Sherlock," Mike said. Detective Sergeant Lestrade smiled back at them before returning to Scotland Yard.


End file.
